


breathed so deep (i thought i'd drowned)

by seasunwrites



Series: prompts [2]
Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Dark Percy Jackson, Drowning, F/M, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mental Health Issues, Mild Blood, Mild Language, Post-Tartarus (Percy Jackson), Post-The Heroes of Olympus, Powerful Percy Jackson, a little bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-18 08:48:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28740516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seasunwrites/pseuds/seasunwrites
Summary: AU in which Percy killed the goddess of misery, back in Tartarus.
Relationships: Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson
Series: prompts [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2107110
Comments: 11
Kudos: 120





	breathed so deep (i thought i'd drowned)

**Author's Note:**

> hello, loves. To the anon who sent me the prompt: I'm sorry I got carried away, uh...but I swear it's not as angsty as it seems lol. also pls read the tags, since there are some trigger warnings. 
> 
> title is from Biting Down by Lorde.
> 
> Enjoy me being angsty:)

Percy woke up drowning.

In the back of his mind, he knew that that was not possible. In the back of his mind, he could hear the running water. Water from the shower faucet. 

He’s floating, maybe. In the tub.

But that’s not what was going through his mind at the moment. All he felt was breathlessness. And water. But it wasn’t the good kind. This water, cold and dark, did not want him.

No, it wanted to destroy him.

Like Misery. 

He’d killed that goddess, once upon a time. Made her choke on her tears, turned her blood to dust.

The running water sounded like her, that wretched being. She was laughing at him. 

He forgot why and where he was in the first place. That laugh was the only thing that was certain at the moment. And the water—with its icy breath—filled up his mouth and lungs.

_Where was he in his dreams?_

Hopefully not here.

His arms reached out, searching for something—anything—that could pull him out of this hell. They could’ve been nonexistent, for all the help they managed to achieve. He felt as if his own body couldn’t even move an inch. He wanted someone to save him. 

_Maybe you don’t deserve to be saved._

.

.

The memory gushed around Percy, resurfacing from the deepest parts of his mind—well, to be honest, it had always been there, gnawing at him.

Tartarus always came back to haunt him, one way or another.

He was there, right next to the inky abyss, surrounded on all sides by the liquid poison and its fumes. It crawled slowly but surely toward him like honey. He backed away but knew it was no use. He’d die one way or another. 

Annabeth screamed at Akhlys, trying to get the goddess’ attention away from him. She had the likeness of one of the corpses that Nico liked to sprout from the ground, not at all looking like that beautiful and vibrant girl he had once known. 

Percy lifted his head to look at Misery, the mastermind behind it all. She grinned at him, flashing her golden fangs. Her cheeks were rivers of blood, like the blood he tasted in his mouth as he bit his tongue so he wouldn’t cry out from the sudden pain. 

He glared at the poison, its small lakes pooling around him. 

_Lakes._

_Liquid._

Maybe he was mad. But maybe he didn’t have to die right now. The ringing in his ears grew louder; Annabeth’s shouts sounded further away. But he could stop this, he had to try.

He concentrated, feeling the familiar tug in his gut. The poison paused in its tracks.

“What is this?” Ackhlyss’ voice bordered on manic.

“Poison,” Percy rasped, standing up with shaking legs. His motive, however, didn’t falter. “That’s your specialty, right?”

He watched as the toxic liquid retreated farther from him and toward Akhlyss’ feet as if she were a magnet and the poison was metal. It sizzled against her toes, and she jumped, shrieking. She swiped at it, but more came. 

“You dare go against me, boy?” But as she said it, tears flooded her eyes; her knees buckled. After many futile attempts, she screeched, “Stop this!” 

But he was just getting started.

Her control over her own creation was over, dominated by someone else.

The goddess shrunk into herself, tears flowing like rivers down her cheeks.

_Oh, good. More water._

He had the urge to laugh. How foolish of her. 

Percy concentrated, searching deeper and deeper into the root of his powers. Soon enough, he had Akhlyss choking on her own tears; it engulfed her mouth and eyes. She clutched her throat, poison burning her legs as it climbed into her as well. 

He was dimly aware of Annabeth calling to him—begging, but she didn’t understand this feeling that Percy felt. This glass-shattering sensation against his stomach. How good it felt, to finally control what could never be controlled.

So he didn’t listen. Instead, he clenched his fists and kept it up. See how much misery Misery could take.

He pushed further into him, and Akhlyss’ blood boiled.

Minutes or hours or days passed before her wailing sounds and anguished cries stopped for good. The poison finally encased her entire body, and she lay on the ground, motionless. In the blink of an eye, her remains were turned to dust. 

_It is done._

“Percy?” 

Annabeth walked up to him, taking her time. The look on her face was enough for him to stagger, clutching his stomach. 

“Percy?” she whispered, now closer to him. 

His name lingered in his mind, a chanting that never seemed to stop. But through the agony in his gut and Annabeth’s sobs that were muffled into his shirt, her expression afterwards was what haunted him most.

_It is done._

.

.

  
  


Something broke inside him that day, he knew. Just like right now, when his powers and his heritage served him no purpose.

It was as if he were trapped in an eternal void. His hands, finally able to _do_ something, clawed at his throat, willing his lungs to work. 

_Why can’t I breathe?_

_Why can’t I_ breathe _._

He was the hero, the son of Poseidon; this wasn’t supposed to be happening.

_What an ironic way to die_ , _don’t you think?_

The laughter kept invading his thoughts, ringing across his brain just as horribly as the water.

He gasped out, scouring for any oxygen he could steal.

_Water._

_Water in my lungs._

Had he always been drowning? Or was this a nightmare?

Perhaps he should just give up. Perhaps the water wouldn’t feel so cold if that were to happen.

But if he listened closely to the chaos, he could make out a muffled scream. Someone crying out, pronouncing his name.

Arms grabbed him by the shoulders, and suddenly he’s sitting up, leaning into someone else. Hands grasped his face, soft and tender. Sobs echoed across the room. His eyes were shut tight, but he’s sure that he’s in some kind of room. 

Right, the bathroom.

The laughter stopped.

He tried to breathe again, but he found that he still couldn’t, the door of his lungs yet to unlock. Panic seized into him once more. He tried to open his eyes, but they felt like lead weights. 

Annabeth. He realized now, that she’d been the one to pull him out. She was here, shaking him, crying, letting the water pour down the drain. 

_If I could only_ breathe.

He faintly registered the way she gently pushed him down, making him lie on the cool tub, now free of the water. He felt pressure on his chest. Her hands, compressing and releasing. 

And then, maybe, he could breathe again. His world was still tinted in balck around the edges, though.

.

.

Annabeth had her arms wrapped around him, both of them lying on their sides in the comfort of his bed. She protected his Achilles’ spot, a habit she never could break. As much as her doing this filled Percy with ease and calmness, he knew the truth: she couldn’t protect him. Not really. His true war was with himself.

Her warmth didn’t seem to suffice, either. Or the snug pajamas that she had given him to wear. 

He could still remember the bathtub’s chill, after all. And Tartarus. 

Annabeth snuggled closer to him. He felt her breathing against his neck, real and alive. She threaded her fingers through his and kissed the nape of his neck. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, voice breaking. “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. That I didn’t realize—”

“S’not your fault. I just...” A lump formed in his throat. He swallowed it down. “I don’t know why. Why was I fucking drowning, ‘Beth? _Why?”_

His eyes bored into the dusty bookshelf in his room, but soon his sight blurred. A tear fell down his cheek and into his mouth. It tasted like the sea. The sea that betrayed him. 

“Maybe, maybe you’re just scared.” 

“Like you were of me?” He shut his eyes tight. “When I killed her?”

Her curls tickled his face as she shook her head.

“No,” she whispered. “I could never be scared of you.”

“But you were. I know you, Annabeth. And I know you’re scared, even now. And the worst thing? You’re scared of _me.”_

“No.” Her tone took a hard edge. “I’m not scared of you. _Gods_ you’re the person I love most in this fucked up world. _Why_ would I be scared of you?” Her hand unclasped from his, moving it to his damp hair, combing through the dark curls. “No, I’m scared of what you could do to yourself. 

“Especially when Sally’s not here, and we’re _alone_ and I, I assume you’re _fine._ But _I’m_ not even fine, so it makes no fucking sense that I didn’t try to see what was wrong earlier, and...and…” She broke down into sobs, face smothered into the crook of his neck as he lay there, unmoving. His eyelids were closed, but tears escaped them anyway.

She pressed her damp nose against his skin and took a shaky breath. 

“I never…” She lifted her face and swept back some of the hair that stuck to his forehead. 

He opened his eyes, and finally looked at her, craning his neck to do so. Her cheeks glistened with tears and her hair was a tangled mess, but he took in her image, gazing at her with new vision. 

It hit him—that this girl would forever be his anchor, his haven. This complicated, sweet and amazing girl, with eyes akin to the storm inside him. That she _was_ protecting him. That she wanted him to heal. She reclined on her elbows, softly caressing his exposed cheek with her thumb. Then, she leaned down and kissed his tears away.

“I never—and I thought you were going to _die_ ,” she said in a small voice. “...I never knew how powerful you could be.”

He stiffened under her touch. 

**“What’s the point,** anyway? It’s not like my powers work anymore.”

He didn’t dare admit what he yearned to say, that he deserved every last breath of pain. That Gabe, that sorry excuse of a stepfather, had been right. That Percy would amount to nothing, and in the end, he’d end up just like that horrible man. He already felt it inside of him, settling comfortably as if reuniting with an old friend.

“But they _do_ work, Perce.”

“How would you know?” His tone sounded accusatory, but Annabeth didn’t seem to mind. “I was drowning, just like in that prophecy. In Alaska.”

“I know you still have them, because I feel it in you. And now you’re letting it consume you instead of controlling it. What happened down there...you can’t change what you did.”

He exhaled, “I wish I was sorry.”

She didn’t respond, only settled back into him. 

After a few minutes of staring at the heaps of comics and the little night light, she murmured, “You’ll be alright. We can work through this. Together. I know we can.”

He could only wish he felt the same way.

Nearing to the edge of dreams in his sleep, he felt the water once again. At first, he realized that it was the same way as in the bathtub. Darkness and cold. Jagged ice.That horrible sensation of panic and helplessness. 

Images flashed through the currents. Teeth and golden eyes and blood and choking. Voices whispered to him.

_Let go._

_What is life, anyway?_

It’s useless. That’s what life was. 

The water wouldn’t let him breath, anyway, so he sunk into the depths. He was used to this. It didn’t matter.

As he drifted away, a voice came to his mind, so startling and out of place in the coldness that it felt like someone had suddenly spoken right into his ear. 

_Remember your lifeline, dummy._

Annabeth had said that, hadn’t she? He wasn’t so sure; he couldn’t remember much about anything.

What was it? 

_Anchor._

Something pulled him upright. It was a tug, coming from the small of his back. And then the darkness didn’t seem as imposing. The whispers and wailing stopped. A smile came to his mind. A face hallowed in a crown of golden hair. She was by the sea, splashing salty water with foam and laughing. 

_Anchor._

No, Annabeth wouldn’t want this for him; he could fight to live. He _could_ get better. The water turned blue and warm, like drinking a mug of hot cocoa. He gasped, letting his tired lungs have what they wanted from the start. 

She was right, gods, was she always right. His powers still worked. And clearing his mind, he remembered the breathing methods they’d practiced, him and Annabeth.

_One in, two out, three in, four out_. 

Up on the surface, the sun gleamed, sending golden ripples all around. 

A hand appeared from the outside, cutting into the water. There was a canoe; he could see the dark silhouette. This time, his limbs moved with ease. 

_One in, two out, three in, four out_. 

The currents guided him up, up into the world. When he drew nearer to the person on the other side, he looked up, only to be blinded by the sun. But movement from above blocked the light like an eclipse. 

Annabeth.

Always Annabeth.

She beamed, seemingly annoyed and amused at the same time, her yankees cap tucked over her hair. Her arm extended toward him, and she laughed. The echoes rippled even in the water.

“Hold on, Seaweed Brain. You’re not getting away from me that easily.”

He felt it now. It wasn’t the currents moving him toward the sound of her voice, but a cord. A single golden thread. 

“Come on. Take my hand.”

And so he did.

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
